


i never learned the language of flowers

by iwaoist



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Best Friends, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Oblivious, Oikawa doesn't understand his own feelings, Pining, Recovery, Sad ending kinda, don't hate me, iwaoi have a big talk, like not a sad ending but not a happy ending yk, this is rushed but i wanted to post for iwa's birthday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:20:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24649366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwaoist/pseuds/iwaoist
Summary: Oikawa remembered very clearly the day that the symptoms started. It was when he started coughing up petals that he realised just how fucked he was.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 23
Kudos: 106





	i never learned the language of flowers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alinlangan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alinlangan/gifts).



> happy birthday iwaizumi hajime, it's still ur birthday here anyway
> 
> all i can say is i'm sorry <3
> 
> also i dont think she'll see this but big thank u to ce. she knows what she did

Oikawa remembered very clearly the day that the symptoms started. He’d been sat at Iwaizumi’s house, in his bedroom as they watched some dumb rerun of a show about conspiracy theories, and he’d felt a strange scratching at the back of his throat. It was persistent, and annoying. He assumed that he’d started to get a simple cough, and he hid it from Iwaizumi to save his own ass from Iwaizumi’s gruff, if overprotective, caretaking skills. 

Then, when the scratching hadn’t gone away as the days passed, despite stealing Kindaichi’s throat lozenges out of his locker, he started to feel a little uneasy about it still. 

The scratchiness irritated him - it stole his voice, sometimes. It felt like something was always in his throat, stopping the words from escaping. He knew that people around him started to notice as his usual sing-song snarkiness grew more absent during lunch breaks and volleyball practices.

It was when he started coughing up petals that he realised just how fucked he was.

\--

Oikawa woke up with a start, his throat burning and the corner of his mouth sticky as he lifted his head from his pillow. His mother was going to kill him when she saw his stark white pillowcase stained with the blood he’d coughed up - yellow, he thought. Why the fuck were the flowers  _ yellow _ ?

Scooping up the blood-stained mess of flowers, he hobbled to the family bathroom and prayed his nephew didn’t burst in on him, as he usually did when he stayed around at their house. As gross as it was, he flushed the evidence of his plight down the toilet and proceeded to shower and brush his teeth so hard he wasn’t sure if he was going to have any gums left. 

He didn’t have time to think about what this all meant, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell his mother about this. Sickness meant rest, rest meant no practice, no practice meant no winning the last tournament of their high school volleyball career. No, he was going to keep this to himself. From what he knew,, he didn’t have it that bad yet - all he had to do was a) work out just who he was in love with, and b) stay alive until after the tournament. Easy.

\--

Okay, maybe it wasn’t easy. 

Oikawa had been working hard at practice, he knew that. He wasn’t really sure what had made his problems worse, in the end. He’d been helping Iwaizumi practice his spiking after a rough day at practice. One second, he was looking at Iwaizumi jump, watching the curve of his toned muscles as he jumped and struck the ball with a power that sometimes shocked Oikawa still, and in the next he was running to the bathroom, trying hard to stop an entire florist shop burst out from his lungs.

Hunched over the toilet bowl, he was glad to have locked himself in a cubicle in an empty bathroom. It wouldn’t be good for his reputation. God, imagine if one of his fanclub girls had seen him all weak like this? No, no. It was not happening. He was going to figure out which one of those annoying girls it was that he was in love with, and he was going to ask them out. Simple enough.

A final hacking cough, and Oikawa felt like his throat and lungs were as clear as they were ever going to get in the circumstances. He took one sad look at the mass of yellow flowers - he made a mental note to try and remember what they were called -, spat the remaining bloody saliva out of his mouth, and flushed the toilet. He still didn’t feel like he could breathe, somehow, but he resigned the shitty feeling to the fact he’d just coughed up a small garden of flowers in the school bathroom out of the blue. Pushing himself weakly to his feet, he sighed. 

Then, when he opened the door of the grimey bathroom stall, he was met with a punch on the arm that “really could have caused some damage, if Iwa-chan wasn’t careful!”

Oikawa noticed that Iwaizumi’s face looked weird. It was the same weird look he’d given Oikawa when he’d said he wasn’t going to spend Christmas break with him, and when he’d told Oikawa that he wasn’t going to university in Tokyo with him after all, that he was staying closer to home because of his family. It was the same look that Oikawa hated, and he had been glad he hadn’t seen it in months.

“When did this start, Oikawa?” Iwaizumi asked, his voice blunt, but laced with the kind of care that comes with knowing someone for your entire life.

“A little while ago. I’m perfectly fine, Iwa-chan! You and I both know that I can make anyone fall for me. It must be one of the fanclub girls, hm? I just need to work out which one, and then I’ll obviously get her to fall for my boundless charms and attractive smile, and I’ll be okay.” Oikawa laid his bravado on thick, and he felt his throat burn the longer he looked at Iwaizumi’s pitiful gaze. “I’ll be okay.” He repeated, and he wasn’t sure if it was more for himself or his best friend.

Iwaizumi Hajime had just spent the last ten minutes listening to his best friend coughing up a mess of blood and plants through the stall door of the gymnasium’s bathroom, and he had no idea what to do to help him. He was… familiar with the disease. 

Iwaizumi wasn’t sure if it was some cruel trick of fate that the exact person that had caused him to cough up the large, blooming peony flowers almost six months ago was now in front of him, cursed with his own case of the disease.

Iwaizumi had been a coward, though. He’d listened to his parents when they lectured him about the dangers of leaving Hanahaki untreated, and he’d caved, heart breaking when his mother had begged him, tears running down her face, to get the surgery, after finding him collapsed on the floor of his bedroom, his entire floor covered a foot high in huge, cascading billows of flower petals. His parents had made up some lies about needing to visit family abroad over Christmas break, and Iwaizumi had chosen the coward’s path. 

He no longer was in love with Oikawa Tooru. 

\-- 

The closer they got to the tournament, the more Oikawa began to look unwell. His skin began to look pasty and washed out, his hair began to lack its usual bounce and shine (despite the mountain of products he put in it to make it ‘do that flippy thing’, as Iwaizumi called it) and the dark circles around his eyes seemed to be ever-present. He wasn’t sleeping. Between watching every volleyball game under the sun, and dying, he was struggling to fit it in. 

Iwaizumi had asked him if he’d made any progress toward finding out who he was harbouring his feelings for, and Oikawa wasn’t sure how to answer. 

He had, but it wasn’t exactly a revelation he was comfortable with. Oikawa was in love with Iwaizumi, and he supposed he always had been. It’d started to make more sense when Iwaizumi had begun to hide Oikawa’s sickness from everyone else. Each kind gesture Iwaizumi performed, whether it was making excuses for Oikawa’s shitty stamina at practice, or whether it was going with him to the bathroom and rubbing Oikawa’s back through the blazer of their school uniform, he felt his throat grow tighter and his stomach clench. Oikawa felt it was some cruel trick of fate - he was sure he’d heard Iwaizumi mumble something about that - that the only person capable of making him feel any better was also the source of all of his pain. 

It came to a head when Oikawa collapsed, much as Iwaizumi had, and the court of the Aoba Johsai gymnasium was covered in blood-soaked, wilting daffodils as Iwaizumi successfully spiked one of Oikawa’s more difficult tosses straight through the other half of their team’s defences. 

The team had all frozen and looked to Iwaizumi with varying degrees of fear and pity. The feeling of joy from hitting a tough toss immediately gave way to pure panic as he looked at Oikawa slumped on the floor, and there was nothing more to do than call an ambulance, which thankfully someone- was it their coach?- must have done as Iwaizumi stared at the crumpled form of his oldest friend. 

It seemed like everyone was looking at him, waiting for him to do  _ something _ , and for a second it felt like he was fourteen and unable to hide the blush that Oikawa brought out in him whenever he made one of his stupid, flirtatious comments. 

Except he wasn’t fourteen, he wasn’t blushing and he  _ wasn’t  _ in love with Oikawa anymore.

\--

Oikawa had been pulled out of school, with the promise he would still be able to take his finals at home, and volleyball was out of the question entirely. His stitches were sore, from where they’d cut him open to rip out the parasitic flower, but he would be lying if there wasn’t a sense of bittersweet relief every time he lifted his head a little too high and his skin ached.

Oikawa had spent seventeen years in love, and although he now felt empty when he looked at his best friend, the emptiness was welcome after months of being plagued by daffodils.

He wasn’t supposed to have visitors, but his mother had always had a soft spot for Iwaizumi- though he was sure that would change if she ever found out he was the reason behind his near-death experience and the disruption to every major decision in his life in the immediate future. How could he have a volleyball scholarship when he wasn’t even allowed to practice casually?

Oikawa smiled at Iwaizumi as he entered the bedroom, familiar as ever. He’d been bringing Oikawa class notes, written in his rough, yet somehow still legible scrawl, and sneaking him extra portions of milk bread from Iwaizumi’s mother. Oikawa knew that would have turned his cheeks pink, before, and made his heart pound. 

Now, he felt a sense of grateful warmth, but nothing more. It bothered him, but it was too late now. 

He’d had his decision made for him, as he lay in the back of an ambulance with his mother on the phone to some medical professional, who advised her that if Oikawa didn’t have the surgery, he might not even be alive to attempt a confession to his unrequited love. Oikawa couldn’t get the confession out of his mouth - God, he tried so hard. The oxygen mask they’d put over his face muffled his words and he vaguely remembered crying, too weak to lift a hand to pull the offending object away. His hand remained limp, in the grasp of Iwaizumi’s as they sped along the streets in the back of the ambulance, blue lights flashing and sirens screaming in the sunny afternoon. 

Iwaizumi brought Oikawa back to the present, poking him in the foot childishly as he sat, legs crossed on Oikawa’s bed. 

“Come on, Shittykawa, talk to me.”

“About what?” Oikawa shrugged, before slipping into his usual irritating self. “Have you missed the sound of my voice at practice that much, Iwa-chan? Is that it?”

Iwaizumi flicked him on the forehead, a roll of his eyes not going amiss. “Shut up, Shittykawa.”

A few beats passed between them, and Iwaizumi started again, ignoring the pout that had grown on Oikawa’s face - God, he was a child.

“You know what I want to talk to you about, Oikawa.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you  _ care _ , Iwa-chan? I had the surgery. It’s over.” Oikawa looked down into his lap, and Iwaizumi was certain that Oikawa didn’t even realise he was stroking the scars that adorned his skin.

“Because I want to beat the ass of whoever nearly killed my best friend.”

Oikawa laughed at that, but he was careful to avoid Iwaizumi’s gaze. If only he knew. “It’s a funny story, Iwa-chan. Maybe I’ll tell you one day.”

Iwaizumi paused, the room dropping into silence - which was unlike them at all - before he looked up at Oikawa. “I’ll tell you mine, if you tell me yours. I promise you, mine’s worse.”

“Wait, what? Are you sick? Hajime-”

Iwaizumi shut him up, raising a hand. “No, I’m not sick anymore. I was, for a while. It was pretty bad. It’s how I knew how to help you.”

“You hid this from me? When?”

“Christmas break.”

“When you said you went abroad?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry for lying, Oikawa.” Iwaizumi was genuine about that. He hated dishonesty, and it felt even more wrong when it came to lying to his best friend.

“It’s okay, I guess? I don’t know why you didn’t tell me, though.”

“Because it was you.”

The words rang out in the silence of Oikawa’s bedroom, and they hung in the air for a little too long. Oikawa was dizzy - he was either due some painkillers, or he had been completely sent reeling from Iwaizumi’s admission.

“You were in love with me?” Oikawa asked, his voice small. He pulled his knees up to his chest as he took a shaky breath. “And you got rid of your feelings instead of talking to me about it.”

“I did. I nearly died, Oikawa.”

Somehow that made things worse, and Oikawa felt tears prick at the corner of his eyes as he groaned in genuine, physical pain as he rubbed at his face. 

“Fuck, Iwaizumi.”

“Yeah.” Iwaizumi mistakenly believed that would be the last mention of any feelings between the two of them, and reached out to fondly pat Oikawa’s healthy knee. 

Oikawa pushed his hand away, and met Iwaizumi’s gaze finally, with the most broken expression Iwaizumi had ever seen on a real person gracing his best friend’s face.

“You should have confessed, Iwa-chan.”

“If you confess, and the person doesn’t reciprocate your feelings, you die.” Iwaizumi countered, shrugging. “I know you like to annoy me, Oikawa, but wishing me death is a little much, hm?”

“You wouldn’t have died, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa muttered, a bitter laugh escaping his usually chapstick-coated lips as he brushed away the tears that spilled. “And we wouldn’t be in this fucking  _ mess _ .”

Iwaizumi felt his stomach drop as he processed Oikawa’s words, and the world became almost too much around him.

Fear and shame had blinded him, he’d already known that, but hearing Oikawa spell it out for him hurt. 

“I’d never learned the language of flowers, but I googled it. In the hospital.” Oikawa continued, and he pulled out his phone to read from one of its multiple open tabs. Iwaizumi tried not to think about the clutter as Oikawa spoke. “According to the language of flowers, and this godforsaken website made in 2003, daffodils mean ‘the sun is always shining when I'm with you; I hold you in the highest regard; you're the only one; unrequited love’. God, I can’t believe how whipped I must have been for you, Iwa-chan. Disgusting, really.”

Iwaizumi laughed, but the deep-rooted blend of guilt and shame pulled at the pits of his stomach, so the chuckle didn’t quite meet his eyes, and he rolled his eyes as he pushed Oikawa over on the bed, moving to sit by his side in a comfortable, platonic way. 

There was nothing they could do now. The one thing everyone knows about Hanahaki is that it’s irreversible and unchangeable. The surgery, too.

The evening was long, and Iwaizumi held Oikawa tight as they both knew they’d been cheated out of a love they’d never feel again.

**Author's Note:**

> daffodils mean "the sun is always shining when i'm with you; i hold you in the highest regard; you're the only one; unrequited love". peonies mean both "gay/happy life" and "shame".
> 
> find me at @gothmakki on twitter


End file.
